


Man of the House

by trekkiepirate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Songfic, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trekkiepirate/pseuds/trekkiepirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean may only be ten, but when John's attention is taken up by other things, he's the man of the house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man of the House

**Author's Note:**

> Songfic to Chuck Wicks' "Man of the House".
> 
> If you are here to hate on John Winchester, I kindly suggest you keep moving.

It's 6 a.m. when Dean wakes up, rolling out of the bed he's sharing with Sammy and rubbing his sleepy eyes as he heads to the bathroom. Once he's done, he starts a pot of coffee and fixes two bowls of cereal. He goes to where Sammy is curled into a little ball in the middle of the bed and shakes him gently awake. “C'mon, Sammy, rise and shine.”

Sammy tries to grab a few more minutes of sleep, but Dean has this schedule down to a science and after only two more minutes of prodding, his six year old brother sits up in bed and blinks owlishly at Dean.

Dean kisses his brother's forehead the way he's done every morning and every night since Sammy was born. “Go brush your teeth and splash some water on your face, Sammy.”

His brother obeys him, padding off to the bathroom in socks that have a few too many holes in them.

Dean frowns and starts calculating how much a new pair of socks for Sammy would cost.

The coffee pot finished its plinking sounds and Dean goes past the other bed in the motel room, which is empty, and heads straight for the couch.

Dad is snoring gently with a book and a couple newspapers surrounding him. Dean frowns at the headlines and underlined parts, all about how people have been turning up dead in what looks like animal attacks. Dad's still trying to figure out exactly what kind of monster is doing this and he's super frustrated every time he hits a dead end, which is more often than not.

Dean listens to Sammy get out of the bathroom and head over to the rickety table where his cereal is waiting for him. Dean can't eat his until he's sure his Dad is awake, because that's his job, make sure his Dad is up before he and Sammy go to school.

“Dad,” Dean says, poking his father's bicep, the same one Sammy likes to hang off of when he's pretending he's a monkey. “Dad, I made you coffee,” Dean tries again.

As if the word coffee is as vitalizing as the drink itself, John Winchester stirs. “Mmm,” he smacks his lips, “yellow. Dean?”

Dean smiles at his dad. “I made you coffee. Do you want eggs or toast?”

John sits up. “I can make my own breakfast, Dean, it's all right,” he says as he plods towards the bathroom. He could use a new pair of socks as well.

“It's okay, Dad. You have better things to do and the bus doesn't even come for another ten minutes,” Dean smiles. “Plenty of time for me to make you breakfast.” And wolf my own down he thinks, but doesn't say.

“Eggs,” Dad says as he closes the bathroom door.

Dean goes back into the little kitchen area. Sammy's finished his breakfast and taken a few bites of Dean's as he races a couple Matchstick cars across the wood. Dean eats most of what's left in the bowl, but he leaves the rest for Sammy. Dad might forget to go grocery shopping again today and Sammy is already too scrawny, Dean thinks, not even noticing his own bone-thin wrists and knobby knees. He starts the eggs for his Dad, washing his and Sammy's empty bowls out while they cook. Once they're done, Dean checks the clock and smiles. A full three minutes before the bus will be here.

The shower's running, so Dean knows his dad won't hear his knock. So he plates the eggs and pours a mug of black coffee, leaving both on the table while he takes Sam's hand and checks over their backpacks to make sure they have everything. “Want to race?' he asks Sammy, nodding at the tiny car in his hand.

Sammy grins like Dean is offering him a heaping bowl of macaroni and cheese with Lucky Charms for dessert. “Yeah, Dean!”

So they spend the last minute before the bus gets there, racing each other's cars around a makeshift track that Dean drew in the orange carpet.

A honk sounds at the same time the bathroom door opens.

Dean turns to his dad, still rubbing a towel across his hair. “The bus is here. I left your breakfast on the table. We love you, Dad.”

Sammy echoes, “Love you, Dad,” as Dean pulls him out the door and they run for the bus.

John stands in the silence left by his boys and whispers, “Love you, sons.” He turns to the kitchen and sees a plate of scrambled eggs, a mug of coffee and two bowls and spoons in the drying rack. “Dean,” John sighs, at once so grateful for the attentiveness of his eldest boy and sad that the kid feels like he has to take care of their family on his own. He's only ten, for pete's sake, he ought to be feeding quarters into arcade games and riding a bike with his friends. If they'd ever stayed anywhere long enough for him to make friends. Maybe John can suggest he take Sammy to the park this afternoon, they can climb trees and swing on swing sets like regular kids. Heck, he's pretty much a hundred percent sure Bobby Singer taught Dean to throw a baseball, maybe John could suggest Dean teach his little brother. Of course, first things first, John will need to go buy the boys a baseball and some gloves. He looks at the few items still on the shelf and looks into the small refrigerator as well. Just as soon as he buys some more food and some milk; they're almost out and the boys are still growing like weeds every day.

That's the plan anyway, but John finds a new lead on the case he's working on. The intact hearts rule out werewolves, but there's something called a wendigo. He spends the day researching in the library and on the phone with Bobby and Caleb.

By the time the boys get home from school, John's too deep into the lead to do more than wave when they walk in.

Dean shuffles Sammy over to the kitchen table, where he helps his little brother with his homework and does his own.

John shouts, “That's it” and with nothing more than a cursory, “I'll be back soon, boys. Dean, take care of Sammy” he's out the door and in search of the weapon he's going to need.

Trying not to sigh, Dean leaves his math homework undone and looks over the food left in the house. Dad forgot to go to the grocery store and there's only a small box of Kraft macaroni and cheese left. Dean fixes it, while he helps Sammy use his fingers to do his own simple addition problems worksheet. Once it's done, Dean portions it out into two bowls and when he sees how meagerly they're filled, he roots around in the fridge for the hot dog package, cutting a few of them up to fill the bowls a little more.

Sammy clears away his homework and kicks his feet in happiness as Dean sets the steaming bowl before him. “Can we watch TV?” Sammy asks as he prepares to take his first bite.

“Blow on that first,” Dean cautions. “Don't want you to burn your mouth, Sammy.”

His brother nods and does as he's told, before he takes the bite and smiles as he chews.

Dean smiles back at his brother, getting the warm feeling in his chest that he feels every time he makes Sammy smile and takes care of him. Dad may say it's Dean job to take care of Sammy, but Dean enjoys it like it's not a job at all.

Dinner finished, Dean puts the TV on and goes to clean the dishes. When he returns Sammy has switched it over to the news and is watching a story about how some sort of bear or wolf has killed a family that was camping just a couple miles out of town. They flash a picture: a father, two daughters and a smiling blonde mom that makes Dean's throat tight with tears. “What are you watching that for, Sammy?” He says.

“Forgot what channels are good ones here,” Sammy asks, eyes innocent because he doesn't understand what mauled means.

Dean switches the channel, clicking until he finds some reruns of M*A*S*H. “I'll be right back,” Dean says as he heads into the bathroom. But instead of using the toilet or brushing his teeth, Dean sits on the edge of the bathtub and cries his little green eyes out. If only Dean had been more help to his dad, then John would have been able to save that family. Another ounce of world weight settles onto Dean's small shoulders and he sighs out a shuddering breath. He can't let Sammy see him like this, Dean thinks as he wipes his sleeve across his face. Sammy doesn't know monsters are real and he never will, if Dean has anything to say about it. Dad can take him shooting out back and treat him like he's one of the little green army men he and Sammy play with, but his baby brother is going to stay safe where nothing bad can ever get him. Never again.

Eyes dry, Dean looks up at the ceiling. Some of the kids at school do that before they eat and they call it praying, which means that they're talking to god, who supposedly made everything and causes stuff to happen. “Please keep Sammy and Dad safe,” Dean tells the popcorn ceiling. Nothing happens, so Dean gives it up and returns to the living room, where Sammy has fallen asleep in front of the TV. He's still small, so Dean can lift him up and settle him into the bed they share, pulling the blanket up to Sammy's shoulders.

Dean changes into his pajamas and climbs in beside his brother, pulling the littler boy into his arms as if that and the salt on the windows is all that can keep Sammy safe. “Good night, Sammy,” he says, brushing Sammy's bangs away and kissing his forehead.

He's been sound asleep for hours by the time John staggers into the room. He'd been too damn slow and the wendigo had gotten to the family, but at least they were its very last victims. John's covered in blood, both monster and human and he feels dead on his feet.

Closing the door quietly, he looks down at his sleeping sons, hurrying to shower before he kisses them good night. He doesn't want either of them to see the filth on him; it would break Dean's heart and raise questions from Sammy. He strips and showers away the muck and mess, throwing his ruined clothes into a plastic bag and changing into a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt. Clean, if only in body, at last, John tiptoes over to the bed his boys are sharing and kisses the both of them on the forehead.

He heads to the little kitchen area and frowns when he realizes there's nothing to eat. “Dammit,” John swears under his breath. No matter what he has to buy more food tomorrow. He checks that there's enough cereal and milk for the boys in the morning and sighs as he eats a package of beef jerky he found behind the cereal box. There's evidence of Dean's cooking, small splashes of spilled cheese sauce and a stray noodle that Dean wouldn't have been able to see. John finishes the clean up and nods at the fact that Dean managed to clean the pot he'd cooked in and has it drying alongside the two bowls that the boys use for breakfast and dinner and the two spoons that only prove they were used because they're in slightly a different angle in the drying rack then they were this morning.

John rubs a hand over his mouth, a habit he's noticed Dean is picking up, and climbs into the other bed in the motel room. He looks across the small space to where his eldest is curled around Sammy like Dean is protecting him from a grenade blast. “I'm so proud of you, son.”

It's 6 a.m. when Dean wakes up, rolling out of the bed he's sharing with Sammy and rubs his sleepy eyes as he heads to the bathroom. Once he's done with that, he starts a pot of coffee and fixes two bowls of cereal. He goes to where Sammy is curled into a little ball in the middle of the bed and shakes him gently awake. “C'mon, Sammy, rise and shine.”


End file.
